


The Insecurity of the Wicked

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-29
Updated: 2007-05-29
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: This argues what manner of life theirs have been: wicked and vile?  Honest and just?  Wasted, forlorn?  With the final judgment,  so their paths conclude.  There are but fifteen turns to make with each of them, but can the truth be perceived from only one or but from all of their stations?





	1. Castigation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, I: Castigation  
 **Author:** [carondelet](http://unknowableroom.org/profile/carondelet) / [carondelet11](http://carondelet11.livejournal.com)  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Peter Pettigrew  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations; violent imagery)  
 **Notes:** originally published 06 July 2005 \\\ 1359; this is an experimental drabble(ish) series based on one word prompts which will hopefully make some sense in the end. The word count is set at 530, an arbitrary number.  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** Even though you know the bad things that are coming for you, you don't try to escape. You know what is seeking you.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] I: CASTIGATION

**_____________________________________**

 

The Holy Bible: King James Version

**The Psalms 22:14**

 

**_A Cry of Anguish and Song of Praise_ **

14 _I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels._

§ **Castigation** §

**With voices screaming** they sang their farewell. On a moonlit eve the master of their betrayer drew their last breaths and you lost your true face. The song that plays, forever, in your memory, leads you into a field at night...

The sleeping dog has awakened. You can hear him. Hear the footfalls, feel his breath. Warm, against your pale, taut skin. He hunts you, in your dreams, in shadows, in glimpses, unseen. The sleepless brotherhood is eternally chasing you, seeking to create a future with no tomorrow. Alone, you close your eyes against the recollections in the night. 

They are trapped, forever within darkness. But their blood, their hearts, burn like embers, crimson against his black stain. They are like the knights of old, armoured by their dedication and their care. Such love and courage does not go out. It creates a bravery that rails against the dying of the light.

These thoughts persist in your mind until your vision burns. You believe it to be their sentence. The flames of their disappointment, your regret, the shame of your desire to keep living.

The sleeping dog has awakened, pursuing you. Every step, upon every road, wherever and however you might travel, he continues to haunt you. He is there, somewhere. Everywhere. Someday, when you have tired of the struggle, he will appear at your side. Ready.

There is a point between the earth and the sky, a point at which all sheep look to. A point that you stare at as you try to understand. And fail. Such things as faith and belief are without meaning to you. All in your life has lost its definition; nothing is now more important than ephemeral release.

With every sunset, at every moonrise, you hear them sing to you their last goodbye. You hear your guilt whisper in your dreams, from now, on and on, into forever. You know that you will hear their song one more time, the last time you see the sun fade into the twilight. It could be the final kiss; it will be your end song. It will be no melody of love; there is no such radiance for you in his darkness. The time for causing pain has ended. Everything will disappear. Even the stigma that burns beneath the frayed arm of a down-at-the-heel frock coat, the painted mockery of your weakness. Embraced, upon your arm. It will not be cleansed by spilled blood or by cynical tears.

You want to cry. You want. You don’t. Red dreams...stinging...inside a shell, dissolving...something like a mirror breaking. Spilling across the ground. You see black. And just a little pain. The former darlings of your loathsome heart are starting to sing for you...sing slowly...sing for you a farewell, so sweet the sound of days past, moments that remember you as a different man.

Even though you know the bad things that are coming for you, you don't try to escape. You know what is seeking you.

The sleeping dog has awakened, pursuing you, through dreams, through truths. The road that you have wandered must end somewhere.

Wormtail, you really should have let sleeping dogs lie.

 

**”**


	2. Obligation

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, II: Obligation  
 **Author:** [carondelet](http://unknowableroom.org/profile/carondelet) / [carondelet11](http://carondelet11.livejournal.com)  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Sirius Black  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations; violent imagery)  
 **Notes:** originally published 06 July 2005 \\\ 1407; this is a continuation of an experimental drabble(ish) series based on one word prompts. It will hopefully make some sense in the end. The word count is set at 530, an arbitrary number.  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** If Heaven is up, and God is in Heaven, how is it that God is not in the sky?  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] II: OBLIGATION

**_____________________________________**

 

_I am like water poured out; all my bones are racked. You have brought me down to the dust of death._

§ **Obligation** §

**Even if I** am removed from this life, do I still possess the ability, the strength, the...courage? Am I still able to fight for those I must protect?

Lily used to tell me things, stories, of someone called God. I don’t remember much. Heaven was up, Hell was down, we were in between. That used to confuse me. If Heaven is up, and God is in Heaven, how is it that God is not in the sky? I never quite understood.

The earth was the in between. Spinning, she said. It sounded mad. The war was raging and there is a God who isn’t up and an earth that was spinning like a child’s toy and all of the people, Muggle and Wizard, were chasing after their paltry desires. Useless, while those who carried the blackest darkness in their hearts passed among them.

Why didn’t we see him?

I am not one with an untainted heart. I know the black, I am the black, though and though. This earth that spins ceaselessly, it is a tainted world, seen through my stained perception. It is completely dark; but when I think of us, when I am thinking of him...he shines brighter than anything else. Your son, he shimmers so brilliantly against the dark. He glows so dazzlingly you must see him from where you are. You have to see him. He’s so much like you.

I see him and he’s like that white lamplight, do you remember? The one to the left of the house. We used to walk by there, when Lily was sleeping. So many memories...so many feelings. So much to regret. Someday these feelings will reach a breaking point. There is just too much to bear. Someday, at some faraway place and in some distant time, I’ll see you both again, and we’ll be able to talk about it and laugh and this burden won’t feel so heavy any more. Surely, you are there, waiting for me.

The sleeping dog has awakened. I’ve caught the scent. I’m in pursuit. At first, it was like another dream, another bewitching of the shrouds that taunted me, but I could see through. We are on the same path now. We traverse the same road to nowhere. I struggle against it, but I know that someday I will be back by your side.

If God is in Heaven and Heaven is above...the sky...it’s so distant. Does that mean that God is far away? Could you fly up to meet him? I never believed in those things. I never believed in something that in these hands I could not hold or could not conjure. I never believed. Faith is such a transient phenomenon. It never really stayed long enough with me.

The sleeping dog is awake now. I will hunt him until the tomorrow beyond tomorrow. When I close my eyes I see him. Alone, my thoughts wander, and with this tainted heart I remember you. Within this blood-stained world, I swear to protect that which was born of your love, that which shines brighter than all others in my darkened, humbled view.

You died for him. And I will kill for him.

 

**”**


	3. Descent

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, III: Descent  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Ginny Weasley; Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley hinted at  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations; angst; imagery)  
 **Notes:** originally published 06 July 2005 \\\ 1407; part three of the drabble series.  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** Sprawled at the base of the serpent. Revisited in clockwork dreams heralded by music box themes.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] III: DESCENT

**_____________________________________**

 

The Holy Bible: King James Version

**Ecclesiastes, 1:17**

**_All Is Vanity_ **

 

17 _And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit._

§ **Descent** §

**She was like** some thing that had withered. Dying on the vine. The flow of her tears had ended. The loneliness that battered her core, the isolation that screamed, killed, thirsted for blood...she had sung his hymn of death, danced a waltz with him, had breathed in his corruptible, terrible scent. She used to think she had the hair of the angel of the dawn; now even that gift from her parents seemed tainted by his touch, his taste.

She felt as though she was trapped, doomed to live in an imaginary town in her head, a town where his black sun was never to set.

She would find herself in her room, draw the curtains round her bed, enfold herself within blood velvet. She would try to sleep as if she were dead. Try to hide away until morning. If she couldn’t see him, if she couldn’t see his eyes, such cold eyes, the ones that no god of man could have created, if she couldn’t see him, then perhaps...

She wondered what her coffin might look like. When she was rendered a doll, strung on broken wire, ruined by the endless dancing.

Sheep on the altar.

Is that all she was?

Sprawled at the base of the serpent. Revisited in clockwork dreams heralded by music box themes.

Where was she headed?

Did their fates hang upon a damned prediction? The end of the world, determined by a string of divined words?

The war had started. She could hear the first true assault coming. The soldiers were moving, readying to beat down the doors.

And it started with her.

She felt the imagined shame of a thousand pointed fingers, directed at her. Fixing her guilt. The naÃ¯veté of her complicity. Curious child. Stupid child. Her grief folded around her like a massive pair of ash-covered wings, wings that blanketed her entirely, making it so that only her prayers could ascend above the cinders.

She had been saved, but what was the price? When he granted her salvation, what did he bargain in return? She wanted to touch, to capture with her slender, pale hands, the irreplaceable friendship that had protected her. That had granted her leave from the darkness. She wanted to know that it was real, that he was real, that there was hope against that which had taken possession of her.

The tears that once flowed were completely stayed. She had touched his loneliness, his desire for punitive blood. She could still smell the scent of his anger, his vengeance.

She would listen to her heartbeat. Confirm her existence. Prove her life.

She hurt. Further demonstration. To live was to know pain. She knew pain, so she was alive. She wanted so much to cast the memories of his violation from her, shed it like the skin of the creature that had killed at the slip of her tongue. She wanted to know herself again, to be without doubt.

He...it was his light that awoke her from the darkness. His light that shone on her as she lay, like a sheep on the altar, dreaming.

Hers was a dream whose clockwork had broken.

Where was she headed?

 

**”**


	4. Mother

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, IV: Mother  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Tom Marvolo Riddle  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations)  
 **Notes:** originally published 06 July 2005 \\\ 2156; part four of the drabble series.  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** I am but a flicker, an echo of a memory that refuses to be named.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] IV: MOTHER

**_____________________________________**

 

The Holy Bible: King James Version

**The Psalms 22:6**

**_A Cry of Anguish and Song of Praise_ **

6 _But I am a worm, and no man;  
a reproach of men, and despised of the people._

§ **Mother** §

**My life before** held insufficient meaning. It seems that, in the beginning, I was searching for those insufficient things to fill my day. Scraps of knowledge, of history, words, phrases, images, sounds, scents. Constantly dreaming of tomorrow instead of seeing what is today. The present fashioned into nothing more than a pristine page in an unopened book.

There was no map, no process with which to chart my course. I was born into a fog of rejection and deceit. I was born alone. I set out on my journey into this world, alone, and caught sight of the greatest illusion to have ever been rendered. This concept called heaven in this thing called a heart.

My earliest memories hinted at nothing of my future. Emotional attachments yielded similar, non-existent, predictions. The possibilities of my life remained like an illusory vista, never to been seen, but always to be evoked. The multitudinous pathways of my varied future selves remain closer and farther than anything else in my reminiscence. When all expectation and all prospect should be little more than a forgotten page in an old book, left to corrode and putrefy on the shelf of yesterday.

I had no idea of the place where I would be going to; I had no idea of the man I would sacrifice you for, in order to be.

When I was a child I used to beg to hear your voice sing. I wanted you to reach me, to lead me, to raise me up. Hold me aloft, in your arms, so high that I might touch the sky, that I could just reach heaven if I tried.

I found myself descending, slipping away from the warmth of those moments, fading away from the brightness on the horizon.

In my younger days, when I slept, when I wore a human face, I dreamed of only those fantasies that were never to come true. A life more ordinary. A sense of place. Having somewhere I belonged. I could never find a suitable substitution for his rejection.

Now, I no longer dream. One must sleep to dream. Now, I weave. An intricate, delicate web, carefully balanced, spun with exactitude, every strand, every intersect, designed with punctilious malice of forethought. My dreams and my possibilities no longer exist for me. Only my aches remain, continue, endure, lead me from today into tomorrow. Years ago I closed the door upon what could be and opted for the immediacy of what malevolent gain will grant me.

All that you would recognise has left me now. I am not your son anymore. I am but a flicker, an echo of a memory that refuses to be named.

Too many dark nights have come to pass. I long for just one more night; then I will stand, triumphant, upon that hill over looking our home, resplendent in the emerald of my true father, to one to whom I am heir. I will grind the other beneath my heel.

I will continue on my passage into this illusion. I want to return to what this flicker remembers as your heaven.

I have already dreamed tomorrow’s dreams, mother. But I don’t remember yesterday’s.

 

**”**


	5. Compassion

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, V: Compassion  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Remus Lupin  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations)  
 **Notes:** originally published 07 July 2005 \\\ 1443  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** The last man standing. Surrounded, yet alone.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] V: COMPASSION

**_____________________________________**

 

The Holy Bible: King James Version

**The Psalms 22:7-8**

**_A Cry of Anguish and Song of Praise_ **

7 _All they that see me laugh me to scorn:  
they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying,_  
8 _He trusted on the LORD that he would deliver him:_  
let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him.

 

§ **Compassion** §

 

**One by one.**

They were lost.

One. By. One. By.

One.

Until. They were gone.

The last man standing. The last one.

It hadn’t been you. You weren’t the one. He was wrong. He was...

They have all left you now.

Have you always been alone?

Review.

The children used to point. Laugh. Stare. They didn’t know you. You didn’t care about that.

You didn’t look like the other children. Too pale. Too sickly. Too swotty. Too shy. Clothes that didn’t quite fit. Scars. On lips, cheeks, chin, arms. You didn’t look or act like the rest of them.

You didn’t care. It was easier. No one outside of your home, no one on that street cared about you. The allure of books, the aroma of the leather, the gilding on the pages, the texture of the parchment beneath your fingertips, the places, the characters, the fantastic sceneries, that was easier for you. To lose yourself in letters and phrases and illuminations, that was your preference...your only refuge.

You hate the night. You hate it more than anything in your life, more than the solitude, more than the obfuscation, more than the lies. The night. Her. You desire the break of day; you crave it. The gold, the brilliance, it offers safety and security and normalcy and reprieve. You wish to spend the rest of your years in the light of day. One day you will find your way out of this place, this war, and you will travel, and you will not stop. Some day soon, you will be able to outrun the moon.

And finally be truly alone.

Waking, sleeping, meals, reading, companionship, it has all passed you by. No one cares to know your story. They all have lives of their own, of others, to worry over. You are left with fading memories and dreams.

You don’t dream when she comes to take you, so you make yourself remember those dreams that grace you when the nights are dark and dim. Those moments between wilful ignorance and the first hints of roseate hue to the sky, your ruminations evoke them and then and he who was your friend, the one who was the end of you all.

You want a change.

Some day soon, you will find your way.

You think that you will make it. If you can only take it, just a bit longer, hold on, hold on, damn you, don’t let it go, you will make it. You will be free.

But now is neither the time nor the place. The scene is incomplete. The staging is still being arranged, the backdrop is unfinished, the cast has not yet been set. The call has not come for you to leave, go your distinct way. If you exited now, it would be over and done and there would be no turning back.

You are the last man standing. There is no turning away for you.

You are his final hope. You are his only connection.

Someday, you will be free. But not until he is. Someday.

Yes, someday. For now, you must remain. The last man standing. Surrounded, yet alone.

One by one by ——

 

**”**


	6. Kindness

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, VI: Kindness  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Severus Snape  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Notes:** originally published 08 July 2005 \\\ 1629  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** I present to you a downtrodden pickpocket in a back alley and a well-heeled member of the Ministry. One filthy and ragged, the other painted and preened.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] VI: KINDNESS

**_____________________________________**

 

_But I am a worm and no man; the scorn of all, despised by the people. All who see me scoff at me._

 

§ **Kindness** §

 

**I couldn’t say** them.

Three simple, yet shattering, words. Threatening to garrotte me. I couldn’t say them, not then, not after, when it was too late, far too late. So now I just pray them. With as much reverence as I am able to invent, in so much as I know of practises such as prayer and supplication and remorse.

They were words that I could not say. It is with some measure of ironic amusement that I admit, yes, despite my facile tongue, there are certain things that I cannot utter for the games played when we were tender of age and delicate of spirit. The games that extended into adulthood, where tempers are dressed behind the fashionable pretences of erudition, culture, inheritance.

I present to you a downtrodden pickpocket in a back alley and a well-heeled member of the Ministry. One filthy and ragged, the other painted and preened. Both one in the same. The packaging does little to mask the foetid nature within.

I could not find them, not then. Nor could I find the fortitude necessary to speak those words. So I hid instead, in books and studies and things macabre, a devotee of asceticism. I secreted myself away from the words that I could not say.

It still pains me, being a charlatan, just another of these fools. Tainted by my cowardice, owned by it, unable to chase it away, not with books or runes or...scars.

I could not make myself say those words. So I broke myself instead.

Even I am capable of confessing to my errors. I attempt to obfuscate the mistakes with darkness and haze, but they remain. As do the prices that I pay for committing them.

For all of the knowledge that I acquired, the natural talent that seethes within me, I am still a coward at the end. All of my trifling accomplishments sit here on my shelf to gather dust. I am left to speak with no one, apostate, expiatory, left with only myself.

And not even my company do I wish to keep.

Those words that I could not say...someday, perhaps, I will make it right. Find a way to expel those words, move them from the seat of my belly, to my throat, past my lips. But until that day, until the long, endless nights of my existence reveal a deeper courage to me, I will remain a dastard. Feinting, enacting a pantomime as an incompetent surrogate to uttering them.

Someday, someday, I shall be able to set this grievance to rights. Until that day, I am resolved to spending night after blackest night in remembrance of the circumstances preceding my verbal ineptitude and how I couldn’t say them, those words, three simple words. I directed my arrogance, my promise, my thirst for reputability, onto you, when you had done no wrong, when you had shown me kindness.

Those words. I’ve fashioned them into a nightly prayer ritual. Those words that I could not say.

_Thank you, Albus._

You are not here for me to say them, so I am left only to pray them, a godless man.

I don’t know if you can hear.

 

**”**


	7. Stumbling

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, VII: Stumbling  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Bellatrix Black-Lestrange  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations)  
 **Notes:** originally published 12 July 2005 \\\ 1726  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-5  
 **Summary:** I suffer her insanity. I reject the entire experience.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] VII: STUMBLING

**_____________________________________**

 

The Holy Bible: King James Version

**Ecclesiastes, 1:11**

**_All Is Vanity_ **

11 _There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after._

 

§ **Stumbling** §

 

**I visit her,** the fallen angel in her fragile house. I walk in her garden. I feel the fevered reverence of her religion inside me, a contaminant. It threatens to sink me, to drown me beneath the madness.

I suffer her insanity. I reject the entire experience.

She does not sleep. She does not speak to me. Restless, she dances in circles, eyes closed, arms raised in celebration, feet and teeth bared, a symphony in her head.

This is not as he said that it would be. This is not as he promised.

Her mouth opens, her eyes close, and still she can see almost everything. Everything save for that this is not as he said that it would be. Her mind is closed, her legs are spread wide open. She cannot be told. She will not listen. Why isn’t it as he promised? She does not see; she does not listen. Nothing else matters to her.

I want to walk out of her house. I want to leave her garden, go to where it is quiet, go to where she does not sing nonsense to the flame that burns the candle’s taper.

For some reason I stay. Even though she is where I cannot follow.

It feels as though everything is over now. She is floating away from me now. Gliding, rudderless, toward a tomorrow where there is no comfort. A tomorrow where the earth weeps and the night prays as it becomes the dawn. She does not know where she is going and I cannot believe in that uncertain future.

Tears are like laughing. The further she drifts, the more the faith passes, withers away.

There is nothing at the end of his words. Do not change. Even if your life is extinguished, your spirit will not cease. It will live eternally. Even within his darkness. Do not follow, do not bend. Remain. Your future is in your hands. Not his.

There is a voice, one that passes deep in my mind. There is no respite, so I pray for her, an act of sedition. I pray that she will see the truth that is before her.

It is not as he said that it would be.

There are some things that never change.

She is not returning.

She is not meant to be this...thing. This forgery, this fraud. Her spirit too strong to be feigned, too vibrant to ever fade away. Her soul was meant to be forever, it was strong enough to break darkness. But now she is turning, broken by the passage of time, lost to his lie. When I finally lay down my head at the end of my days, when I close my eyes and dream my last dreams, nothing would bring me more joy than to find that he’s dead when I wake on the other side of the veil. For this is not as he said that it would be. This is not as he promised.

There’s an angel in the house. She doesn’t sleep. She is restless.

I’ve been in her house. I no longer sleep. Instead I watch her, who was once me, stretch further and further away...

 

**”**


	8. Lamentation

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, VIII: Lamentation  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Hermione Granger; Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley inferred  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (angst)  
 **Notes:** originally published 26 July 2005 \\\ 1354  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-6  
 **Summary:** Those embers of times past when they were still young in heart and mind and when their lives still kept the illusion of simplicity.  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] VIII: LAMENTATION

**_____________________________________**

 

**William Shakespeare** (1564—1616)

from **_Sonnet CXLII_**

_LOVE is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O! but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;_

 

§ **Lamentation** §

 

**She came to** fear that she had been nothing but a fool. That she had cast herself as a jester, a clown, in some insane panto. She had been lost in her illusion for so long that even her sense of up and down had been twisted.

She knew. Yes, she knew, and it all became real once she saw it in his eyes. He hadn’t been surprised by her, not really, not at all. They had stopped being…she knew by the sad smile on his face that it was him. The dream had ended, the reality of the situation had been revealed, and his decision had been made. It wasn’t about her; it was him. She knew by the smile.

She knew that he no longer cared for her. The knowledge did not make her cry. She knew, had known, for some time that it was the moment to bid adieu. It had been time to say farewell years ago, before even their first hello. It was something that was not meant to be, but neither of them realised it at the time. But now…it did not make either of them cry. She knew as well as he did that it would all just fade away. It was time at last to say goodbye.

When the moment finally came, she was left alone. She watched him fade away like the clouds that had gathered above. She knew that she was strong, but she also knew that she had grown cold. She felt the first stirrings of fear in her heart as she told him goodbye, farewell, so long…as she uttered their final adieu.

The cold began to thaw, permitting her the recollection of how she loved him. Despite her strength, perhaps to mock it, she became lost in her memories.

Her mind, ever her comfort, could not save her. He was gone now. And she was no longer cold; she could feel the pain of his loss, the pain of having been such a fool over him.

What she thought had been love, her love for him, had burned deeply within her, inside of her, strong. But the waking dream could not stand the light of day and all that was left for both of them were smouldering embers of the times they had. He was gone. They were gone. She was left, alone, to stand lost in a memory. A reminder of how she thought she loved him and he thought he loved her. What did they know? They were but children then. The years were still slight, but the experiences had aged them. It was those experiences that had woken them, had him come to the decision, one that she saw coming. And now he was gone and she was left to feel the fool.

All that was left for her, for him, were the memories. Those embers of times past when they were still young in heart and mind and when their lives still kept the illusion of simplicity.

But those times were lost and she could only stand, alone, with her memory.

Entranced by her reverie, she saw his face and smiled.

 

**”**


	9. Agony

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, IX: Agony  
 **Author:** carondelet / carondelet11  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Andromeda Black-Tonks  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (adult situations; angst)  
 **Notes:** originally published 29 July 2005 \\\ 1518  
 **Word Count:** 530  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-5  
 **Summary:** That damned night. His Dark Night of the soul, the Night of the Long Knives, the night that the person that I knew as you murdered and in turn died in my view. With each succeeding evenfall I pray as you disappear from my recollect. Even as the memory of you fades, my intellect continues to question. What did you believe would be gained and where are you going?  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. 

 

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] IX: AGONY

**_____________________________________**

 

 

**William Shakespeare (1564—1616)**

The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

**Act IV. Scene IV**

 

_Art thou so hasty? I have stay’d for thee,_

_God knows, in torment and in agony._

 

§ **Agony** § 

 

**I thought everything** was over.

You had killed. It was done.

There is a finality that accompanies death, so I thought it was over. Since I thought everything was over, I closed myself to you. Blinded my sight, deafened my hearing. I sent all that you told me floating away on the current of memory, drifting toward a tomorrow that held no comfort for me.

The strongest of us all. The grandest of us all. You rebelled against blood and birthright and I loved you for it. And then you killed them. Me. Your own memory.

That damned night. His Dark Night of the soul, the Night of the Long Knives, the night that the person that I knew as you murdered and in turn died in my view. With each succeeding evenfall I pray as you disappear from my recollect. Even as the memory of you fades, my intellect continues to question. What did you believe would be gained and where are you going?

I know that you are physically imprisoned. But where is your heart? Where is your soul?

The moon turns her face when I pray. The stars are like the colour of tears. My pain has turned to laughing, as your memory passes away. 

You were the strongest of us all. You were darker than light but you shone brightly. I don’t think you understood the power you held within you.

Even if the man that I thought I knew, loved and respected, even if the man that you once were is deceased, it will not extinguish my feelings for you. I cannot permit that. The man that you were will live eternally. Even if the dream that once was hope and a belief is hiding in the darkness… I cannot remain closed to you. Forget who you were. Who you still might yet be.

I will light a candle for you.

Your voice travels through my mind, deep within my memory. Where I tried to bury it. It refused to lie still. With your song in my heart, each morning I pray to know the truth. The why and the how and it makes no sense to be. Every night and every day.

There are some things that never change.

I wonder if you will be coming back here again.

I wonder if you have faded away.

You were the strongest of us all. No matter what you did, you can't fade away this reality. You must acknowledge the blood on your hands, as I must realise that you killed them. You did. They found you in the rubble, staring at the remains. There was death all around you.

You are gone, perhaps it means forever. A prisoner in the darkness. Bearing witness to what I cannot imagine. When those damned phantoms pass you by, when the chill of their sickly caress marks the passage of time, are you able to think of what might be waiting for you? Is there love? Is there compassion? Friendship? Camaraderie?

In the black, can you see the light? Can you find the way home?

I am holding a candle for you. I am clutching it with both hands. **”**


	10. Humiliation

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, X: Humiliation   
**Author:** carondelet / carondelet11   
**Character(s) / Pairing:** Ron Weasley   
**Rating:** PG-13 (angst)   
**Notes:** part ten of a free-form drabble series; not planned; based on single word prompts   
**Word Count:** 530   
**Spoilers:** Books 1-6   
**Summary:** I want to protect someone for a change. I want to be the one. She does so much, he carries too much of the weight of the world. I want to share the burden. I want to dispose of my weaker self, the one who does not know of sacrifice or selfless gain. I want to be rid of him, say goodbye, farewell, something that I have never considered before. Things are different now, so very different, and a new laughter falls from my lips, in it a truth that shines like a diamond from within me.   
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

**_____________________________________**

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

[] X: HUMILIATION

**_____________________________________**

 

**John Donne (1572—1631)** , Eighty Sermons, from **Sermon 7**

 

_Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification._

 

  
§ **Humiliation** §

 

**You are me.** I am you.

 

You, who suddenly took to flight under the crisp, blue sky. You, who had what they call a knock-down-drag-out with your best friend on a rainy day in the middle of the pitch. You, who had always wanted for fame and glory and adulation. You, who knows nothing about the end of life. You, who has been faithful in your fashion, as best that you know how, though, in truth, you know more, you know better than that. Better than this.

You are me.

I am you.

You, who never quite liked the attention, though you coveted it. You, who would get red-faced, and suddenly aggressive and would shout, at her, at him, especially at her. You, who believes in loyalties and promises and things unexpected of you. You, who stubbornly continues on your journey though you are unsure of where it is that you are going. You, who grumbles that you have had bad luck, in money, in love, in matters of sport, though luck has had nothing to do with the course of your life. You, who, despite outward appearances, worries that something’s wrong.

Something bad is coming. Something wicked this way comes and you don’t know how to stop it. You don’t know how to save them from it. You know that you cannot hide from it.

There are some things that never change. There’s nothing. Don’t change. If their lives are no more, even if life as you know it is deceased…

It’s all been ruined now. He will not be coming back here again. You want to say that it is impossible, inconceivable, that he could never die, that he would never feign, he would never ever fade away.

No.

But he didn’t have a choice, did he. You do. You have opportunity and you should also have the motive.

You are me.

I am you.

I want to protect someone for a change. I want to be the one. She does so much, he carries too much of the weight of the world. I want to share the burden. I want to dispose of my weaker self, the one who does not know of sacrifice or selfless gain. I want to be rid of him, say goodbye, farewell, something that I have never considered before. Things are different now, so very different, and a new laughter falls from my lips, in it a truth that shines like a diamond from within me.

You are me.

I am you.

When you’ve been hiding yourself from what is going to happen next, when you have been sleeping, when all these things around you have gone unnoticed by your eye, when what you thought wouldn’t break has broken all too soon…

When he has broken… to young a time, too short a turn…

When you want to do something bad on purpose…

When you want nothing more than to fly away…

When the vision of your last moonrise, his last, has entered your vision, entered into your heart…

You are me. I am you. And it is time for both of us to grow up.

And I guess that I have finally had enough.

 

**”**


	11. Condemnation

**Title:** The Insecurity of the Wicked, XI: Condemnation

  
**Author:** carondelet / carondelet11

  
**Character(s) / Pairing:** Draco Malfoy

  
**Rating:** PG-13 (angst)

  
**Notes:** part ten of a free-form drabble series; not planned; based on single word prompts

  
**Word Count:** 530

  
**Spoilers:** Books 1-6

  
**Summary:** It’s mad, all of it, all of them, mad. You’d done well in deluding yourself, in deluding the others into believing that you’d take the vows, lay the killing blow.

  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

 

**THE INSECURITY OF THE WICKED**

 

[] XI: CONDEMNATION

 

**_____________________________________**

 

 

**William Shakespeare (1564–1616)**

 

 

Cymbeline

 

**Act III. Scene V.**

 

_All-worthy villain!_

_  
Discover where thy mistress is at once._

_  
At the next word; no more of ‘worthy lord!’_

_  
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is_

_  
Thy condemnation and thy death._

 

 

 

**§ Condemnation §**

 

 

 

 

 

**You don’t know.**

 

And that’s nothing like you, is it?

 

You believe that it has finally come, your time. Yes. Yes, yes, now it is time, you’ve delayed it, you’ve loathed it, you’ve despised it from afar, but now you fear. You fear to tell what it is that you have been holding back for so very long. You’d nearly succeeded in staying it, in staying this, your unwanted destiny. The time is finally come, but…

 

Something strange is happening.

 

Deep inside of you, you feel something that you’ve not felt before. This something, this faceless, nameless something deep within the hollow of your chest is unlike anything you’ve ever known. And that makes you afraid.

 

No, the truth is what makes you afraid.

 

That you may not be what you think you are. What mother or father thinks you are.

 

What **He** wants you to be.

 

What are you to do now? This situation that you have been thrust into… With every breath, you are breathing it for another – your father, who, by circumstance, is no longer able to fulfil his duty. At first, when he was taken, you didn’t think you could face your life without him. There had been no comfort for you (as cold a comfort as your father had been) and without his presence in the manor, in your existence, you’d momentarily believed that you could be… nothing.

 

How wrong you were. How easily shaken your thoughts, your beliefs… the change, swift, cruel, had stunned your now fading sanity.

 

Now you are to take his place.

 

You no longer sleep, no longer feel. Your senses have all but left you now. Ironic, that; they seem to know better than you. They know to leave when you make every false effort to stay.

 

The pain is so great you no longer cry. You no longer shed tears over the realisation that you are not your father; never have been, never will be. You can’t pretend to be the man that he is. Though fated (doomed) to walk his path, you’re saddened by the fact that you cannot fulfil his dreams, not in this lifetime.

 

(You said that you could, you swore that you could, but you know that you cannot. These things you must hide, as all truths related to you, hide all of the things that you hold dear.)

 

So you come to a decision, the one that dictates you must leave as you can never be what **He** wants, what **He** needs. It’s mad, all of it, all of them, mad. You’d done well in deluding yourself, in deluding the others into believing that you’d take the vows, lay the killing blow. It was, after all, your plan, your scheme, your cunning that set all things into motion. You’d accomplished what had previously been unattainable. It falls now to you to win the battle that will shift the course of the war. This one battle… upon which rests everything… the impossible dream made reality.

 

But you are without help now. Alone. Afraid.

 

After all, what are you, without your father standing behind you? Just a little boy set out to kill an old man.

 

 

† 


End file.
